


wash the echoes out

by witching



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Comfort Sex, Complicated Relationships, Denial of Feelings, Dirty Talk, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Praise Kink, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-15 17:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19300063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching
Summary: "Sometimes, after sending another exaggerated report to Hell taking credit for something he absolutely did not do, it made Crowley feel better to have someone who knew him, who knew the truth, assure him that he was not a failure as a demon. And if the sex felt like a punishment sometimes, well, at least he knew he deserved it."





	1. a little over eleven years ago

**Author's Note:**

> partly inspired by [this post](https://iwouldfuckajcrowley.tumblr.com/post/183577520459/crowley-is-deeply-insecure-about-what-a-piss-poor) and a great many comments about crowley's praise kink. i got to thinking about that juxtaposition and how a shift in relationship dynamics might change things, and this is what came of it.
> 
> title from florence and the machine’s “drumming song”

"This is the last time this is happening," Aziraphale breathed, casting a wary glance in the direction of the door and then to the windows, using a flicker of a thought to turn the lock and pull the curtains. 

Crowley rolled his eyes, his weak laugh muffled by the angel's lips on his. "Better make it count, then," he muttered when they pulled apart for a moment.

Aziraphale set his jaw and pursed his lips, an expression that was undermined by the fact that he still had Crowley pinned to the wall, their hips pressed flush together. "Don't be cocky," he snapped, his grip tightening on the demon's shoulders. 

"Can't help it," Crowley murmured, an arrogant smirk plastered purposefully on his face. "I'm a demon, it's what I do."

"No need to remind me," groaned the angel, taking a small step backward.

Seizing the opportunity, Crowley snaked a hand down Aziraphale's torso and unbuttoned his slacks. "I thought that was why you did this," he whispered, cupping the front of the angel's pants and squeezing gently. "You wanna set the naughty demon on the path of right? Show me the light of Heaven?"

Aziraphale closed his eyes, letting out a low breath. There were two ways to go with a comment like that: he could put on his indignant, defensive, angelic persona, tell Crowley off for being smug and presumptuous, and leave this where it was, or he could lean into it, the way he usually did, and play along. He chose the latter, his mind steered by his straining erection. "Don't think I could," he muttered, the words coming out choked as Crowley began stroking him steadily through his briefs. "You're just – _ah_ – too wicked."

Crowley moaned and threw his head back, hitting the wall with a heavy thud, his reaction to the words just as strong as if he had been touched. "Yesss," he hissed, "I am just _too_ wicked, aren't I? Tempted an angel, didn't I?" He thrust his hips forward, pushing the pair of them toward the couch. 

Pulling Crowley by the waist, Aziraphale turned them around so he was the one steering. "Stop talking," he growled, pressing a hand firmly into the demon's chest until he fell onto the couch on his back, then climbing on top of him.

"Okay," Crowley mumbled, "but you keep talking. Tell me…"

He cut himself off with a gasp as Aziraphale pressed a thigh insistently between his legs, pushing his knees apart. "Tell you what?" Aziraphale asked, looking down at him with an expression of impatient exasperation.

"Tell me what you think of me," Crowley said, panting, struggling to keep his voice relatively low and unaffected, lest it sound like he was begging, which he was.

Aziraphale nodded. He knew the drill. “You’re dreadful,” he murmured against Crowley’s skin as he trailed bites and kisses down the side of his neck. His hands moved to the buttons of Crowley’s shirt, working deftly as he sucked a mark into the demon’s collarbone. “A vile tempter,” he added halfheartedly upon seeing the expanse of Crowley’s chest and stomach revealed.

It was routine by now, though Aziraphale would never admit it; he tried to keep these trysts few and far between, but habits formed, and once they did it was hard to break them. It had started with one drunken, fumbling kiss in France which neither would admit to initiating, and that led to several more drunken, fumbling kisses, and it was a slippery slope from there. Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to put an end to it, so he got in the habit of enjoying a physical connection with Crowley from time to time, always denying that it could be anything deeper, always reminding himself that Crowley was a demon, at his core. 

Then, after a while, he began frequently reminding Crowley of this fact. It had always been there, since the first time they met _(You’re a demon,_ Aziraphale had said, as if Crowley didn’t know, as if he could forget. _I’m not sure if it’s actually possible for you to do good.),_ but with each successive instance of falling into bed with him, the angel became more and more insistent about it. 

“We’re enemies,” Aziraphale muttered, his teeth grazing Crowley’s hip. He kept talking as he divested the demon of the remains of his clothing – manually, no miracles for this, he liked the feel of his hands on every inch of newly revealed skin. “You’re a scourge upon humanity.”

For his part, Crowley didn’t particularly relish the incessant barrage of judgment, but something deep inside him reacted to it inexplicably. Though he had always been the first to boast about his wicked deeds, to claim that he was a bastion of sin, he knew that he was a bit soft, compared to other demons. He knew he had never quite fit in among his brethren in Hell, and he had always been quietly, secretly insecure about it. So it was reassuring, comforting even, to know that someone believed that he was very bad, indeed. 

Neither of them quite knew when Aziraphale’s persistent, steadfast denial had become a form of dirty talk, nor when Crowley’s silent appreciation of it had become a very vocal and visible appreciation, but here they were, and it was simply understood between them. It was almost like a game, one where both players wanted to believe the game was truth.

Knowing it wasn’t true, Aziraphale wanted to convince himself that he and Crowley were begrudging acquaintances, that Crowley was incapable of goodness and love, being a demon. He wanted to convince himself that the sex was just a physical outlet for his distaste for Crowley. Aziraphale would never lower himself to using the term “hate fuck,” but he desperately wanted to believe that that was what this was, and so he was more than willing to affirm those feelings to Crowley in the throes of passion.

Crowley, knowing that he was in love with Aziraphale, knowing that the angel didn’t return his feelings, chose to take what he could get. It wasn’t enough, but it was physically satisfying, and the way Aziraphale talked to him was some small benefit. Sometimes, after sending another exaggerated report to Hell taking credit for something he absolutely did not do, it made him feel better to have someone who _knew_ him, who knew the truth, assure him that he was not a failure as a demon. And if the sex felt like a punishment sometimes, well, at least he knew he deserved it.

Aziraphale sat back on his heels, looking down at Crowley with veiled admiration. He ran a hand down the taut lines of Crowley's stomach, stopping deliberately just before he reached the demon's cock. This drew a small whine from Crowley, which he ignored in favor of leaning in close to murmur into his ear, “Did you design this body to tempt me, you serpent?”

Crowley squirmed under the angel’s touch, bucking his hips up in search of something that Aziraphale refused to give him just yet. Aziraphale gripped his waist in both hands, holding him still, pressing him back down against the cushions, and shook his head. “Greedy,” he said nonchalantly. As soon as he was confident that Crowley would stay put, he loosened his hold on the demon, moving one hand down to slide a finger inside him, torturously slow.

“Get on with it, would you?” Crowley groaned, shifting his hips down. 

Aziraphale scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Impatient beast,” he muttered, gently swatting Crowley’s thigh. “If you want anything from me, I’m afraid you’ll have to try and behave.”

Whining high in his throat, Crowley shook his head as the angel began scissoring two fingers inside him. “Can’t,” he said, his voice strained.

“No, of course you can’t,” Aziraphale replied. “In any case, I won’t have you making demands of me.” He dove without warning to take one of Crowley’s nipples between his lips, swirling his tongue around the bud, scraping the skin gently with his teeth. 

When he pulled back to look at Crowley’s face once more, he was panting, covered in a light sheen of sweat. Aziraphale thought, deep in the recesses of his mind, that it was a rather enchanting look on Crowley, this frenzied desperation, this urgent need. Then he thought, even deeper down, that it was rather pitiful, as well, that Crowley had grown to crave the disdainful mask that he wore to avoid showing affection for the demon. He shook those thoughts out of his head, telling himself for the millionth time that he could not go down that road, choosing to refocus on the activity at hand.

As Aziraphale lined up his cock at the demon’s entrance, Crowley wrapped a lanky leg around the angel’s waist, pulling him closer, pulling him in. Aziraphale moved slowly, always so slowly, until he was buried inside the tight heat, feeling Crowley’s own hardness insistent against his stomach, and then he stopped moving entirely. 

Crowley knew better than to rush this part. He’d made that mistake once, and Aziraphale had spitefully fucked him so slowly he thought he might die. And this was the good part, he didn’t fancy dying in the middle of it. What he did fancy, however, was grabbing the angel by the back of his neck and pulling him down into a clumsy, chaotic kiss, twisting his fingers into the curls that Aziraphale tried so hard to keep neat, leaving a smattering of messy, open-mouthed kisses down the angel’s cheeks and jaw.

Sometimes, if Crowley kept Aziraphale’s mouth occupied long enough, he could almost pretend that this was just them, just the two of them doing this without any pretense or excuses, without an elaborate game of denial. In this moment, as he felt Aziraphale move, his cock dragging inside Crowley as he pulled out and thrust back in, he could drown his gasps of pleasure in a kiss and pretend that Aziraphale wanted him, just like this.

Then again, if Aziraphale wanted him, that would have certain implications as to his status in Hell. So it was six of one, half a dozen of the other, really, and Crowley didn’t feel the need to waste too much energy thinking about it when he could savor the feeling of Aziraphale fucking him, instead. 

Despite the fact that he didn’t necessarily need air, Aziraphale pulled away from Crowley’s kiss after a minute or two, breathing heavily, and Crowley could see he was close. “Tell me,” murmured the demon, definitely begging this time. “Tell me again.”

Taking hold of Crowley’s hips and lifting them to shift the angle ever so slightly, Aziraphale intensified his thrusts, fucking into Crowley harder and deeper. He hit that spot that made the demon scream, and he knew he shouldn’t enjoy it this much, but the way that Crowley’s mouth hung open, his back arched, his eyes closed – it was a marvelous sight to accompany the marvelous sounds he made.

“You are…” Aziraphale paused, swallowing back the impulse to tell the truth. “You are awful,” he said instead, speaking slowly, emphasizing each word with an increasingly punishing thrust. “You’re a foul, wicked fiend.”

“I am, I am,” Crowley mumbled almost inaudibly, his nails digging into Aziraphale’s shoulder blades, grounding himself. Then, nearly sobbing: “Touch me, angel.”

The angel complied, holding Crowley’s hip with one hand and moving the other to stroke the demon in time with his thrusts. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the head of Crowley's cock and watched as the demon's face twisted in pleasure. Aziraphale was always grateful when Crowley closed his eyes, because it gave him license to drink in the sight of him without being seen in return, and Crowley was – oh, was he ever beautiful.

"Bad," Aziraphale muttered, a self-admonishment he hadn't meant to say aloud. But now that he had said it, Crowley was reacting to it, and that was more than enough to snap him back to attention and spur him on. "You're _bad,"_ he said, louder, redirecting the word onto Crowley.

Crowley nodded frantically, bucked up into his touch, spilled over Aziraphale's hand and both their stomachs. The keening moan that escaped him, combined with the delicious way that he tightened and clenched around Aziraphale's cock, made it easy for the angel to follow soon after. 

A brief period of post-orgasmic bliss, silent but for the sighing, gasping breaths between them, and then Aziraphale was retreating, cleaning himself up with a miracle and putting his clothes on. It was always like this. Crowley, still lying prone, covered in come and sweat, slung a leg over the back of the sofa, exposing himself even more in a pantomime of nonchalance as he watched the angel turn to go.

"You could stay, you know," he drawled, knowing Aziraphale wouldn't take him up on it. 

"No, I couldn't. This is not… you know what this isn't." Aziraphale looked back at him sadly, then quickly rearranged his features into what he hoped was a stern expression, one that would communicate to Crowley exactly how inappropriate it would be for him to stay, how out of line it was for him to ask. It wasn’t out of line, of course, as they quite often spent time together socially, but Aziraphale needed these boxes in his head. One for sex, one for friendship, one buried deep down and triple-locked for love.

Crowley gave a single jerk of his head to acknowledge the angel’s statement, pressing his lips together to restrain himself from saying anything he might regret. Or saying anything at all, really, as his shaky, ragged voice would have given him away, no matter what words he chose. He wove his fingers together, digging his nails into his skin, and stared intently at his hands; he had watched Aziraphale leave so many times before, and it was an unvarying and depressing sight, one that he certainly didn’t need right now.


	2. present day

It happened just as soon as they arrived home after the end of the world, stepping quietly into Crowley’s flat and looking around, as if things should have been different. Things weren’t different, everything was just as it had been left, and it felt wrong. It was late at night, or early in the morning, they couldn’t tell and they didn’t care too much, but it was dark and neither bothered to turn the lights on when they walked through the entryway. 

Everything was quiet, eerie quiet and calm quiet, the kind of quiet that very quickly becomes unbearable. It took only a few seconds before Aziraphale pounced on Crowley, caging him against the wall with his arms, and kissed him with a fierce power. Crowley made a muffled noise of surprise before relaxing into the kiss, his hands magnetically drawn to the angel’s face and neck and hair, roaming over well-explored territory as if no time had passed since the last time.

It had been years, in actuality, because the whole armageddon business made a fine distraction from whatever impulses that usually led them to this point. But now it was over (more or less), and they were free (as far as they could tell) and safe (for the time being), and relief coursed through their veins, and they could do what they wanted. So they kissed, messy and hot and deep, because it was familiar, because they needed to be close.

Aziraphale ran a hand down Crowley’s torso, slipped his fingers just past the hem of Crowley’s shirt, curled them against the demon’s hip, pressing his fingertips into the skin like a white-hot brand. Crowley moaned into the angel’s mouth, a dirty, unreserved noise, different from anything Aziraphale had heard from him before. Experimenting with touches, he slid his hand along the demon’s waist, around his back and down, grabbed a handful of Crowley’s ass and squeezed, pulled him closer until their hips were flush against each other.

"Aziraphale." Crowley didn't moan or mumble or murmur the angel's name; he pulled away from the kiss and spoke more clearly, and with a clearer mind, than he had in a long while.

Aziraphale took a big step back immediately, raising his hands in the air in a pacifying gesture. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Crowley reassured him, in a tone which was not very reassuring at all. "Just… if this is what we're doing, I wanna do it right."

Aziraphale furrowed his brow, smiling as if Crowley had said something so immensely stupid that it was both confusing and endearing. "Don't worry, Crowley, I know exactly how you like it."

Huffing out an exasperated breath, Crowley tried to will the blush rising to his face away. "That's not what I mean," he said, his voice heavy with frustration. 

"What do you mean, then?" 

"I'm in love with you,” Crowley said, the words coming out in a rush, his eyes not moving from the angel’s face.

Aziraphale gaped silently for a moment before clapping his mouth shut, pursing his lips. "You're – hm,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

Crowley swallowed nervously, gave a small nod of his head. "Yeah. I just thought, you know, given everything that's happened, I thought. Thought it would be… disingenuous, to keep going without telling you."

Putting on his righteous disguise, straightening his back, Aziraphale leveled a look at him that was amused, not unkind but entirely empty of affection. "You're a demon,” he said matter-of-factly. “Aren't you meant to be disingenuous?"

"I've never been what I'm meant to be, and you know it," Crowley snapped, simultaneously ashamed of the fact and irritated at Aziraphale’s denial of it.

Aziraphale’s eyes shone with an indecipherable emotion. "Then, er. What have you been?"

"You tell me,” Crowley replied with a shrug.

Aziraphale's eyes darkened, and he stepped in, not as close as he had been before, but close enough to touch and be touched. He opened his mouth to speak, but Crowley cut him off.

"Not like that," the demon sighed. "Tell me the truth."

"The truth?"

"Yes, please,” Crowley whispered. “What _have_ I been, to you? Really?”

Aziraphale stared at the demon for a long time, searching for the words to say, searching for any reason not to say them. The silence stretched for miles before the angel took a shaky breath and answered the question. "You’ve been so good to me,” he said at long last. “My best friend, sometimes my only friend. You’ve been kind and thoughtful. You’ve made me a better person. Even when we fought, even when I disagreed with you, even when I wanted to hate you, you’ve always been _good,_ Crowley. Just good.”

Lost in his little speech, Aziraphale had not been tracking Crowley's reactions so closely, and he looked up now to see the demon red in the face, biting his lip as if in pain. He took another small step forward and gently pressed a hand against Crowley’s chest, tutting sympathetically.

"I'm sorry, my dear," he said softly, "but you _asked_ for the truth."

Crowley nodded, humming a rather squeaky affirmative. Aziraphale studied his face, narrowing his eyes and searching for – well, something like forgiveness. He found none of it; in fact, he found nothing to indicate any particular emotion beyond the very obvious look of distress on the demon's face.

"Could you say something, please?" Aziraphale struggled to keep his tone even, unnerved.

Blinking several times, Crowley cleared his throat to speak in a hoarse whisper. "Did you still want to… erm."

Aziraphale frowned, cocked his head to the side. "No, are you okay?" Seeing the way the demon's face fell, he quickly corrected himself: "I mean yes, I _do,_ but are you okay? I don't want to – I'm not trying to distract you, if something's wrong."

"I'm not deflecting, angel," Crowley murmured hotly, "I'm aroused."

The angel’s eyebrows shot up. "You are?" 

"Very,” Crowley replied. “Care to confirm for yourself?"

Aziraphale did not need to check Crowley's statement, because he believed Crowley, and because he could feel the desire coming off him like a strong perfume. Nevertheless, he reached down to grab Crowley through his pants, two thin, tight layers of cloth separating them, and he squeezed ever so gently, just to get a reaction out of the demon.

Crowley's reaction consisted of closing his eyes and inhaling sharply through his teeth, making the angel smile deviously.

He squeezed the bulge in the demon’s pants again. "What's that for, my dear?"

"For you, angel,” Crowley muttered distractedly.

"Well, yes, one hopes,” Aziraphale replied sardonically. “But did I do something?"

Crowley flushed a bright red. "You called me good."

“I thought you’d be upset with me,” said the angel, casually moving both his hands to rest on the demon’s shoulders. “You’ve always gotten upset, before, when I say things like that. I didn’t know it would have this effect on you.”

"Er, neither did I, really. Always done it the other way, before." Shuffling his feet, looking down and away from the angel’s face, Crowley reddened even further.

Aziraphale nodded, understanding without difficulty what Crowley was referring to. “Yes, and… you liked that? When I’d… you know, before?”

“I asked for it,” Crowley muttered.

“It always felt wrong,” Aziraphale replied shamefully, “lying to you like that. But I suppose I was just as much lying to myself.”

Crowley looked up at him again with a hopeful expression. “But we don’t have to lie anymore, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer, suddenly emboldened. “So tell me the truth, angel, and I’ll do the same.”

“I told you a big truth,” Aziraphale pointed out. “Your turn.”

“The truth? Angel, the truth is that I would very much like to be on my knees right now with your cock down my throat.”

“Well,” Aziraphale coughed modestly. “If that’s what you’d like, then I’ll allow it. For you.”

“My, how charitable,” Crowley drawled as he spun the angel around, pushing him up against the wall and sinking to his knees. He unzipped Aziraphale’s slacks and pulled them down his thighs, freeing the angel’s cock, already hard. Before anything else, Crowley trailed his fingertips up the length of it with a feather-light touch, a teasing hint of what was to come.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed.

Crowley continued stroking his cock, as if his goal were simply to feel the angel’s hot skin rather than to get him off. “Yes, angel?”

“That’s good,” answered the angel.

Crowley let out a whining moan, looking up at the angel through the thick curtain of his lashes, and whispered, “Good.” His hot breath danced along the sensitive flesh before him, making Aziraphale’s cock twitch, his breath catch.

“What can I do for you?” Aziraphale asked hoarsely. “You’re so good at giving, Crowley, I want to give you what you need, too.”

“Keep talking like that,” Crowley groaned, and then he leaned in and licked tentatively at the tip of Aziraphale’s cock. Gripping the base with one hand, the other holding onto the back of the angel’s thigh, he wrapped his lips around the head and sucked gently.

Aziraphale let out a soft gasp, his fingers twisting in Crowley’s hair, not guiding him or moving him, but simply holding him. The tightness of his grasp, the severity of the pull on Crowley’s scalp, was an indicator of how close he was to falling apart completely. “Oh my, oh, Crowley,” he panted.

Crowley pulled back, his hand not releasing its hold on the angel’s cock, his tongue flicking across the slit before he looked up again, his expression almost innocent. “You okay?” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied hoarsely. “Just – keep doing that, please.”

“Can do, angel.” Crowley returned to his ministrations, taking half of Aziraphale’s length into his mouth in one movement, pressing the flat of his tongue up against the underside. He closed his eyes, breathing out a sigh of satisfaction through his nose.

Trying his best not to rip Crowley’s hair out of his head, Aziraphale loosened his grip, stroking the back of the demon’s head lovingly with one hand and bracing himself against the wall with the other. “You’re so good,” he murmured, “so good for me.”

Crowley opened his eyes and glanced upward, making sure to catch eye contact before moving. He relaxed his jaw, taking the length into his throat until his lips were wrapped around the base, his nose buried in the golden curls surrounding the angel’s cock. He inhaled deeply, revelling in the fresh and earthy scent that pervaded every part of Aziraphale at all times, and then swallowed around the hardness in his throat.

The physical sensations Aziraphale felt were only amplified by the sight that Crowley made. After taking a long moment to admire the view, Aziraphale let out a soft groan, moving his hand to cup the demon’s cheek. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He swept a gentle thumb over Crowley’s cheekbone, watched the skin flush pink. “You look so pretty, down on your knees for me. So pretty with me in your mouth.”

Slightly embarrassed and highly aroused, Crowley closed his eyes again and gave an appreciative hum, causing vibrations that made it very difficult for the angel not to buck his hips. Crowley sensed this, moved his hands to hold Aziraphale firmly to the wall, and began to pull back, only a few inches before lowering himself all the way down again. He bobbed up and down on the angel’s cock, making messy, wet noises, his throat constricting slightly around it with every thrust. 

Aziraphale tangled his fingers into Crowley’s hair again, letting his head fall back against the wall as he babbled a hardly coherent string of praise. “So good, so good, Crowley, my goodness,” he moaned breathily. “You’re doing so well, my Crowley, my dear. Such a talented thing you are.”

Crowley flexed his tongue in undulating movements against Aziraphale’s cock as he took the whole thing in his mouth again, and he felt Aziraphale tense up, nearing his orgasm. He doubled down, swallowing around the angel’s cock and then sucking for all he was worth, tracing the long, thick vein that ran up the length with his tongue.

Just before tumbling over the edge, Aziraphale achieved a moment of crystal-clear lucidity through the haze of sex and arousal. “Crowley, I love you,” he said, “I love you too, I do.”

Crowley let out a high, whining moan around Aziraphale’s cock, one that drew itself out into a series of whimpers as Aziraphale finally spilled down his throat. He sucked through the angel’s orgasm, swallowed it all down like a man finding an oasis after being lost in the desert, and then pulled back, rubbing the hinge of his jaw.

“Gosh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said wonderingly, looking down at the demon, “you’re perfect. Can I – what do you want me to do for you? You can have me, any part of me, my hands, my mouth, anything.”

“I’m okay,” Crowley replied hoarsely, then cleared his throat, cutting off the angel’s protests before they began. “I mean, I finished already.”

Extending a hand, Aziraphale helped Crowley to his feet so they were face-to-face, then cocked his head to the side. “You – you did? But – just from that?”

Crowley nodded, licked his lips, gave a smile that managed to be simultaneously mischievous and bashful. “Angel, I really cannot overstate how much I love sucking your cock,” he murmured huskily. “To add on top of that all those things you were saying? You’re lucky I didn’t come in my pants before we even got started.”

“Oh,” breathed Aziraphale, his eyes wide.

“Don’t worry,” Crowley said cheerfully, “we’ve got the whole rest of our lives. You can fuck me next time, and I promise not to come without your permission.”

His knees buckling slightly, Aziraphale pressed a hand into Crowley’s lower back, pulling the demon flush against his body and kissing him soundly. Crowley didn’t hesitate to respond, grabbing the angel’s hips like a lifeline and losing himself completely in the kiss. He ground his hips into Aziraphale's, moaned into the angel's mouth, sucked on his lower lip, and the angel smiled, thinking perhaps _next time_ would be quite soon, after all.


End file.
